


Dragonborn

by Amoux



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 16:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6813019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amoux/pseuds/Amoux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He came to Cyrodiil to rid himself of a darkness that has festered inside of him for more than two centuries.  After finding his cure and beginning his journey home, Will Blackarrow is caught up in a Civil War, a plot to overthrow Skyrim and an ancient evil that hasn't stirred in a thousand years. And Will Blackarrow will become their legend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dragonborn

**Author's Note:**

> Trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kyZ_tUudvxA

They say that the mage has the power to breathe life back into creatures of darkness.  To let shadows that had gone untouched by light to step into the sun and be filled with warmth.  They say that this man, unnamed and unknown, has the power of a God, unlike any other mortal.  However, these were of course just rumors.  And rumors rarely held any kind of valid truth.

But Will didn’t have a choice anymore.  It’s been years...two centuries.  He looked down to his pale skin, shadowed by the thick robes he was forced to wear and he sighed, closing his golden eyes.  It’s been two hundred years since he was able to feel the light of the sun.  Able to walk in daylight like any mortal man...by this time, he had nearly forgotten what warmth felt like. Forgotten what it was like to watch the sun rise up over the mountains and cast its light across the horizon and light up the sea in flames.  

At first, it had been amazing.  The taste of blood between his fangs.  To live among the darkness like he was a part of it, to feel the cold of shadows and see in the night as easily as a man would daylight.  To live forever.  

But the world started to live without him.  He saw children grow and die, civilizations rise and crumble in just two centuries.  A great war that swept through Tamriel, ripping it apart and forcing it back together.  And all of this, even though he had been there, had swept by him.  Like he was a shadow on the wall, only able to watch, but not being able to live it.  And it was that lifelessness that finally decided for him, that it was enough.  

The last decade was spent on a relentless search across Cyrodiil.  He was hesitant to leave his homeland, the Great War was still very active in the surrounding provinces and he would rather not get wrapped up in another war.  But after searching all the cities and holds in the Imperial Province, the Imperial City, Anvil, Bruma, Bravil, he realized that it was hopeless.  There were vampires in Cyrodiil, sure.  He didn’t think there was a province in Tamriel that didn’t have the blood sucking beasts.  But a man who could remove the curse?  That was harder to find.  So he turned his search North, in a land that he’s been doing his best to avoid.  

To Skyrim.  

 

His leather boot sank down with a  _ squish  _ into the swampy muck, and Will groaned, lifting his leg out of the knee deep slush and gave it a shake.  Where the hell was he?  There was no way there could be a city around here, it was a wasteland.  These marshes seemed to spread out as far as he could see.  In the far distance, near the cliffs, he could see the hold that people claimed was Skyrim’s capital, Solitude.  At least, some people.  Others said that it was a city to the East, Windhelm.  Apparently the citizens of Skyrim were still making up their mind on what was the capital.  It was of no matter to Will.  He just wanted to be out of this cursed country.  

“Come,” he said soothingly, turning to the horse behind him.  It was the same horse that he had brought with him from Cyrodiil, but the horse hasn’t been taking well to Skyrim’s climate.  The cold had the horse trembling and shaking, and Will was more concerned about warming the animal during the freezing nights than himself, leaving him shivering by the fire at night and the horse cozy under his cloak.  But Will needed his horse, and was willing to go the extra step to make sure he wouldn’t have to walk Skyrim’s land on foot.  

He took the horse’s reins in his hands, leading the stallion around the muddy sinkhole and onto what looked like firmer ground.  The ground was squishy and spongy, seeming to breathe and wheeze under his boots as he led the horse through the foul smelling marshlands.  Finally he stopped, giving a growl of aggravation as he leaned up against the horse, drawing out his map.

“There must be a mistake,” he muttered, putting his finger to the map.  “That’s the third time we’ve passed by that fungus, I know it.”  He looked to Solitude, then at the sea that he could see in the distance.  “We should be close, but I can’t...” he trailed off as he spotted shapes in the distance.  They were small, buildings, obviously, but...this was supposed to be an entire Hold.  A city, right?  “There’s no way,” he muttered.  Could that be it?  Replacing his map back into his cloak, he led the horse up a sloshy hill and when he looked down at the town, he moaned.  This was it.  Morthal.  

It was a collection of not even twenty buildings, connected by a series of crudely crafted bridges that went over the stinking, freezing water from the marsh, and a foul smell drifted up to where the ranger stood and he gagged, lifting up his tunic over his nose.  “They couldn’t have chosen a better spot for a city,” he muttered.  No, this wasn’t a city.  He knew what a city truly looked like.  The Imperial City, with more people than you could keep track of and buildings that seemed to touch the skies.  This...this was entirely unimpressive.  

He sighed. “Come on, Arbor,” he said tiredly, swinging onto the horse’s back.  He could feel it trembling underneath him as he led the Cyrodiilic horse into Morthal.  And he could almost immediately see that he wasn’t welcome here.  The people of Skyrim looked to be hardy folk, ripped with muscle with grim, stern faces.  They faced death daily out here, and he wanted to shrink under their suspicious, angry looks.  Why so hateful?  Oh.  Of course.  He had Imperial written all over him, from his clothes to his tanned skin to the skinny horse he was riding.  He wouldn’t be surprised if they still harbored hate towards the Empire.  

Morthal was completely new to him.  The jumble of buildings made it hard to navigate, even the inn which should have been plastered up in front for weary travelers was nowhere to be found, and he sighed, looking until he found a guard.  Or...what should have been a guard.  But he recognized the uniform of an Imperial soldier and Will frowned.  So Skyrim’s guards have been replaced with soldiers?  He didn’t know that.  He urged Arbor forward and he hailed the soldier. “Excuse me,” he said, drawing the man’s attention, and he saw the Imperial’s face soften with relief.

“Ah,” the man said, putting a hand on his blade.  “A man from my own country.  It’s good to see you.  What can I do for you?”

“I need a tavern.”

The man grinned and gave a laugh.  “Don’t we all?” His helmet glinted as the sun shone through the clouds and Will grimaced, looking away.  “Sure, the Inn, Moorside is just across the docks by Highmoon Hall.”

“Highmoon Hall?”

“Yes, the residence of our Jarl.”

Will was going to ask what a Jarl even was, when he remembered.  Instead of Counts to rule each city they had Jarls, which were supposed to be some kind of kings and queen or such.  He nodded, turning away when he heard a whistle and he turned back.  The inviting, welcoming expression was gone from the man’s face, replaced with suspicion.  “Don’t try anything here, stranger.  And stay out of Jarl Ravencrone’s way.”

“I will.”  He didn’t intend to stay long enough to get in anyone’s way, if he could help it.  He led Arbor across the docks, and passing by Highmoon Hall he looked up and snorted.  Highmoon hall was nothing more than a well built log cabin with a banner plastered in front.  If this was the Jarl’s home in a city of Skyrim, he didn’t dare wonder where the High King of Skyrim lived.  What was his name, Torygg?  These poor sods lived a poor life in the North.  He couldn’t wait to be back in his mansion in Cyrodiil.  

He came to the Moorside Inn and sighed, dismounting his horse and tied him to one of the rails.  “Stay,” he said.  His voice calmed the horse and he left it, stepping into the Inn.  The people inside were as suspicious as the ones outside.  The meltingpot of voices and deep laughter faltered and stopped as soon as the cloaked ranger stepped into the building and Will sighed, pushing back his hood.  He could almost feel the dark blue eyes of the Nords of Skyrim watching him as he made his way towards the bar where a woman was busily cleaning cups.  A Redguard, with dark hair pulled back into a bun and when she saw him, she looked up and gave him a friendly smile.

“Hello!  A newcomer, huh?” she was already fetching a mead as Will sat down, his backside aching from his riding.

“Indeed.  Can I please have a room?”  He passed a septim and took the drink that was pushed to him in return.  

“Of course.  How long will you be staying with us?”

“Not long, if I can help it.  A night, at most.”

She didn’t take it as an insult.  She gave a knowing smile and a dark laugh.  “I understand,” she said, returning to cleaning her cups.  “Morthal isn’t the prettiest place in Skyrim, I’ll tell you that.  And business has been slow.  I don’t know why Falion decided to move here, but I can’t imagine going anywhere without my brother.  So here I am.”

Will had only partly been listening as he sipped on his mead.  But the name stood out.  Falion.  He frowned and looked up, placing his drink on the table.  “Falion?” he asked and the woman seemed to stiffen and turned towards him.

“Ah...yes.  Why?”

“I need to see him.”

She seemed to get defensive.  “No,” she said sternly, taking a step backwards.  “No, only the Jarl may speak with my brother, the Jarl and...special cases.”

Will watched her for a long moment.  He looked over his shoulder, but the suspicious eyes were avoiding him, turned downwards to their cups and he looked back to the woman, pulling down his hood.  His vampiric, golden eyes glittered cat like.  “I think I may be one of those special cases, ma’am.  I’ve heard he can help me.”

Her dark skin seemed to pale and she lowered her cup.  “Oh,” she said meekly.  “I...yes, in that case, my brother would like to see you.  Gurman!”  A blond bear of a man looked up from a table, his eyes glazed over from ale.  “Watch the Inn for me, just for a moment.”

“‘course I can, Jonna!  Anything for you.”  His words were slurred and he stumbled over, leaning clumsily over the bar.  Jonna wrinkled her nose, but she turned back to Will and nodded at the door, brushing past him.  

“My brother has been helping people like you for quite some time,” Jonna said, keeping her voice low as they stepped out of the inn.  She gave a guard a sideways glance and started down one of the thin docks, Will at her side.  “And it’s because of his...dealings that he’s earned a bad reputation here in Morthal.  People don’t trust him.  It’s why I was so defensive, and I’m sorry for that.  I hadn’t recognized what- who you are.”

“It’s fine.  So, he’ll be able to completely cure me?”

“That’s what I understand.  I try not to get involved, myself.  Vampires, wizards...it all scares me.  So I just run the Inn and try to forget it.  Sometimes I wish Falion would go to the College, but that would mean he would leave and I...well, Skyrim isn’t themost hospitable place to anyone who isn’t a Nord, and I need my brother here.”

“The College?”

“Yes, where Mages can study.”

Skyrim was so odd.  Jarls instead of Counts, A College instead of Guilds.  It was all so different from what he was used to.  

He followed the woman to the edge of Morthal, to a house up against the docks and Jonna motioned for Will to wait outside as she stepped up to the door, giving a knock.  A little girl opened the door, peering at Jonna and she gave a smile.  “Aunt Jonna!”  The brown haired girl leaped up, giving the Imperial a hug.  Aunt?  This girl wasn’t a Redguard, she was a Nord.  But Jonna hugged her back all the same, kneeling down to be at the girl’s level.  

“Good evening, Agni.  Is your father home?”

“No, he went out to the stones.”

Jonna pursed her lips.  “I have to be going back to the tavern...” she stood up, gesturing back to Will.  “Do you mind letting this man stay with you?  He has to talk to Falion, it’s very important, sweetie.”

“Can I show him my magic?”

Jonna hesitated and looked to Will.  The Ranger smirked.  “It’s fine,” he said.  “I would love to see your magic.”

“Well in that case, I hope you enjoy your stay.  I’m sure Falion will be back soon, but I must return to the Inn before it’s burned down.”  She left Will at that, going back to her Inn and Will followed Agni into the home.  It was most definitely the home of a wizard.  He could see an Arcane enchanter, topped with glowing knives and boots pressed up in the corner, and tomes of scrolls and books cluttering a small desk.  There were two beds that were practically hidden in study material and robes, one for the wizard and one for this girl who must be her apprentice.  

He listened as the girl chose to tell him her whole life story, that her father was killed fighting in the Great War and her mother left her, and that Falion took her in.  She told him that one day she wanted to study at the college, like Falion and that she could make flames and make little dead things move.  That made Will’s head jerk up, opening his mouth.  “I- Necromancy?!  You know that’s illegal, right?” He hadn’t forgotten the necromancer from his time in Cyrodiil.  

The girl stopped talking and watched him oddly.  “Illegal?  It’s not illegal.  Falion says that I can do anything I want!”  

Necromancy was practiced freely in Skyrim?  He could see this being an issue.  He opened his mouth to warn the girl when the door opened, and Will immediately went for his bow.  A man walked in, garbed in the black robes of a necromancer, soaked to the skin by a rain that had started not an hour earlier.  Will was about to put an arrow in the man’s forehead when the girl gave a big smile.  “Falion!”  Agni raced up to the man who laughed, gathering the girl into his arms. 

“Agni,”  The man drew back his cowl, a redguard man and it took him only a moment to stop Will and he narrowed his eyes.  “Agni, who is this?” he asked cautiously, lowering the girl down.

Will stood up from the bed, taking a step forward and outstretched his hand.  “Will Blackarrow...I spoke to your sister.”

“Jonna?  Why would she-” That was when Falion saw.  Looking at Will’s face, he narrowed his eyes and breathed, his shoulders slumping.  “I see...that’s why you’ve come.  You seek a cure?”  Will nodded grimly.  

“Fortunately for you, you’ve come to the right place.”  Will waited patiently for the wizard to tuck in Agni, kissing the girl’s forehead and brought the blanket up to her chin and said goodnight.  “Do you have a family, Blackarrow?”

“No.”

He followed Falion away from his home.  “So...Will, is it?  Who...who was it?  Who turned you?”

“His name was Janus Hassildor, the Count of Skingrad.”

“Janus...he was count nearly two hundred years ago.”

Will smiled coldly.  “It’s been a very long time since I’ve felt the son, Falion.  So you’ll understand why I’ve come to you.”  They were quiet.  Will followed the man into a more forested area, away from Morthal.  Where was he taking him?  Years of adventuring and making coutnless enemies made Will suspicious, and he kept his fingers only a split second away from his bow.  But Falion seemed innocent enough, despite his somewhat bitter outlook on life.  He supposed a man had to be rather hardened, however, being a conjurer and a necromancer.  

They stopped and Will looked ahead.  A flat, wide stone had been dug into the ground, topped with strange symbols.  “I do hope you have a black soul gem,” Falion said and Will looked up.

“Why?”

“We require a soul in order to do this.”

Will pursed his lips.  It sounded like dark magic to him.  But as the power of the vampire coursed through his veins as the sun set, making him tremble, he nodded, reaching into his bag and pulled out the obsidian stone that rippled and crackled with energy as his skin touched it.  “Here,” he muttered, handing the stone to Falion.  The wizard examined it for a moment before deeming that it was all right and he nodded, gesturing for Will to stand on the stone.  

As soon as Will stood on the stone, he felt energy tingling in his boots and he grimaced, curling his fingers and looked up nervously at Falion.  Falion wasn’t paying attention.  He was drawing a dagger and chanting under his breath, his eyes closed.  In one swift motion, he brought the dagger down on the soul gem, splitting it in two and purple mist began to ooze out of the soul gem, snaking along the ground below them.

Will couldn’t understand what he was saying.  It was a deep language, amplified by some spell that reverberated in his ears.  He felt the energy course up into his body and he gasped, going to his knees.  He felt like his veins were on fire.  His vision flooded with red and he shouted, shouted Falion’s name, to the divines as the pain completely engulfed him.  He could feel himself changing, the immortality, the power that was being drawn out of him like poison from a wound.  The whispers that constantly filled his mind, to feed, to kill slowly dulled until there was nothing.  Just blackness, silence.  

He came to as Falion shook his shoulder.  Will groaned, looking up tiredly and the redguard wizard was kneeling beside him, a hand on his shoulder.  “Are you all right?” the mage asked and Will nodded weakly.  He went to stand, but his blood rushed into his head and he stumbled, kept stable by Falion’s firm hand.  “Careful.  Tell me how you feel?”

“Dizzy...is it...is it over?”

Falion smirked and nodded.  “Feel the light of day again, Blackarrow.  The curse is gone, and you are free.”

Will had planned previously on staying in the inn.  He had even paid for the room, and thought that after the ritual was over he would just sleep and wait until morning...but now he realized he couldn’t do that.  Now that he might be able to look upon the sun again, he knew there was no way he was missing a second of it.  At least, for now.  So he rested on the edge of the cliff, his legs dangling over the edge as he watched the distant horizon to the east, where the sun would rise up over the mountains.  

He had to admit, he was nervous.  Part of him was skeptical.  He felt the change come over him, of course.  It’s difficult to miss feeling like your blood was boiling, but after two centuries of living with the curse, how could it just...go away?  He was almost hesitant to believe it was true just so that he wouldn’t be disappointed when the sun rose and he felt his flesh burning, just as it always had.  But Falion had assured him that the curse was gone, so he had to try.  

He grabbed his dagger, extending a hand and whispered a word.  A ball of glowing blue light floated around his head as he brought the dagger up to his face to look at his eyes.  They were no longer orange.  Blue, a dark blue....he couldn’t stop looking, checking, making sure his eyes didn’t change back to the eyes of a vampire.  He had almost forgotten what his eyes even looked like, it had been so long, and he was terrified of losing them again.   

His grip on the dagger tightened as the rivulets of red began to spread out over the night sky like veins.  A golden light was being born behind the mountains, and he could feel the coolness of the night beginning to warm.

Then the sun rose up over the mountains.  He looked away with a groan, the daylight burning his eyes that had grown so accustomed to blackness, but after a minute he finally tore his eyes back to the sun and slowly stood.  Tears slipped down his face.  Not from the pain.  The sun was burning his eyes, but no, not from that.  He could see his breath misting up in the frigid Skyrim air.  He could feel his heart pounding in his chest.  He could feel the blood in his veins.  He could stand there and soak up the sunlight like a living, breathing man, and feel the warmth flood through him and heat him up at the core.  

He was alive.  

 

After watching the sun rise completely into the sky, Will decided it was high time he got the hell out of Skyrim.  He hated the place, and he hadn't even spent much time there.  Will was a man who enjoyed his luxury.  He wanted his fancy mansion back in Skingrad.  He wanted the warmth from Cyrodiil.  Skyrim...it was everything he hated.  The people were distant, suspicious and racist.  The land was cold and unforgiving, and so far the most luxurious building he had come across was the tavern, and for obvious reasons.  Plus, this land was completely torn apart by Skyrim’s Civil War, and the Great War.  He wanted to be back in Cyrodiil, which was finally starting to heal from the War.   

So he traveled back across Skyrim, keeping to the roads and away from the cities, camping along the roads whenever the sun fell, and always staying up late enough to watch the sunset, and the way the sky lit up in a hundred different colors.  It was a long trip.  Morthal was in Northern Skyrim, and Cyrodiil was on the southern border.  Which mean he had to travel all the way across Skyrim to get home.  

And he had almost made it.  Had he left camp only an hour earlier, he would have missed the horse thief, and had been able to go home freely.  But it seemed fate had other ideas for Will Blackarrow.  

The sun was heating the back of his neck.  He didn’t mind.  With his hood pulled back, letting his face warm up from the sun, Will smiled and lifted up his head, soaking up the sunlight.  Despite still being in Skyrim, where it was always cold and the snow crunched under his horse’s hooves, he felt warm.  The same couldn’t be said for the horse.  He could feel Arbor shivering, unaccustomed and ill equipped for Skyrim’s weather.  The short haired horse was going to freeze to death if they didn’t get into Cyrodiil soon.  

Will chewed on his lip, stroking the horse’s neck.  “We’re almost home,” he whispered to the animal.  “I promise.”  He looked up and frowned.  A man was walking down the road, his hands shoved into his pocket.  He had shaggy brown hair, and a fox like face that practically spelled trouble.  Will tightened his grip on the reins and nodded down to the man.  “Good afternoon.”

“‘Noon,” said the man gruffly.  Will relaxed as the man passed him.  So he wasn’t prepared when rough hands shoved him off his horse.  He shouted, slipping from his saddle and pain exploded in his arm as he landed hard in the ground.  

Will gasped, staggering to his feet, still blinded even as he heard the sound of hooves tearing up at the ground.  “Hey!” he shouted, fumbling for his bow.  “Stop!”  No, not his bow.  He didn’t want to hit his horse.  His vision cleared and the horse thief was riding, not looking back as he started to fly West.  And Will pursued.  

Arbor was a Cyrodiilic horse.  They were known for their long bursts of speed that could last for hours, they were lean and fast and could run like none other.  But not when they’re cold.  And Arbor stumbled slowly down the road, even with the thief kicking roughly into its side and screaming in his ear.  But Will couldn’t keep up.  His fists were pounding at his side as he struggled to keep up with the horse but he knew he was going to lose it.

That’s when he saw the soldiers.  They weren’t Imperial soldiers, they wore a blue armor, some wearing helms, but they were soldiers all the same, and escorting a man garbed in furs.  “Hey!” he shouted.  They all drew their weapons as one and he pointed at the horse.  “Stop him!”

At first, no one did anything.  They watched as the horse came at them and Will was afraid that for a moment, they were going to let the thief and is horse run past.  But someone acted.  A blond Nord that dropped down, grabbing something off the ground and drew his hand back.  As the thief raced by, he launched the rock forward and it smacked into the man’s forehead, hard.  

The thief shouted, falling to the ground and Arbor whinnied in alarm, rearing up as soldiers leaped forward to grab the stallion’s reins and call him down.  Will breathed with relief, jogging to catch up.  

“Thanks,” he said, taking the reins from the soldier.  

“You know this man?” Asked the nord, nudging the unconscious thief with his foot and Will scowled down at the thief, shaking his head.  “No.  I was just heading towards Cyrodiil.”

“We’re heading in that direction,” the robed man stepped forward.  He was a handome man, with windswept hair that was brushed backwards, brown and thick with a dark stubble and piercing brown eyes.  He had the face, the body, the expression of a leader.  He extended his hand.  “My name is Ulfric Stormcloak.”

Will took the hand.  “Will Blackarrow.”  Stormcloak.  Where had he heard that name before?

“Sir!”  One of the soldiers in blue called from the back of the line.  “What should we do with the thief?”

“Put him on the horse,” Ulfric ordered.  “We’ll take him with us to Bruma when we look for reinforcements.”  A shaggy, stocky horse lumbered forward, tossing its head.  These must be what Skyrim horses looked like.  Very unattractive, in Will’s opinion.  

Will mounted Arbor, following after the soldiers and after listening for a few moments, began to piece things together.  These men called themselves “Stormcloaks,” which was apparently in no way awkward, even with Ulfric  _ Stormcloak _ walking mere feet behind them.  He must be the leader of this rebellion he’s heard about.  Hopefully he wouldn’t get tied up in whatever was going on by travelling with them.  

“What are you doing in Skyrim, Imperial?  The blond, Ralof asked as he walked beside Arbor.  

“I had to see a friend,” Will said, keeping it vague.  

Ralof laughed.  “We have a man of mystery over here!”  Will opened his mouth and Ralof put a hand on his shoulders.  “No worry, my brother.  We all have skeletons in our closet.”

My brother.  Will would not so easily give another man that title, but he kept quiet as he followed the Stormcloak soldiers.  They were the true epitome of what he always believed Nords to be.  Fair haired, wild people with a deep laugh, wide smiles and maybe too much ale in their bellies.  And there’s no forgetting the large weapons strapped across their backs.  

“Where in Cyrodiil do you hail from, Will?” Ulfric asked over his shoulder.  

Will hesitated.  Home.  Was it Skingrad, where his mansion was?  The Imperial City, his base of operations?  Anvil, where he grew up?  “Anvil,” he said after a moment.  

He nodded.  Then he asked the big question.  “Now, Will.  You’re an Imperial.”  He cast Will a dark sideways glance.  “Do you side with them, as well?”

Will didn’t know what to say.  He didn’t know enough about what was going on to give a say, but he didn’t have enough time to answer, because Ralof suddenly stopped and put up his hand.  The entire line froze and Ulfric whispered to the blond, “Ralof, what is it?”  

Ralof didn’t say anything.  His hand was still up, the blonde looking into the thick trees that flanked the cobblestone road and he lowered his hand.  “It must have been-” an arrow shot out of the trees, striking a soldier.  Blood blossomed at his throat as he wordlessly fell over, and all hell erupted then.  

Ulfric gave a cry, calling his men to arms and the Stormcloaks drew their blades as Imperials came flooding out of the trees.  It was chaos.  Arbor threw Will from his saddle and Will hit the ground hard, his head smacking against the stone.  When his vision cleared, Stormcloaks and Imperials were fighting over him.  He rolled out of the way, avoiding getting crushed by a body that fell at the hands of an enemy blade, the corpse falling beside him and he tumbled to the side, crawling to his knees.  

Someone kicked him in the chest, whether it was an accident or purposeful, Will didn’t know but the breath was knocked out of him and he fell, falling to the ground, trying to roll over.  Then the boot came down on his face, and all went black.  


End file.
